•Teenlock•Parentlock• If All Else Fails

14• Missey

Hai behbehs, thanks a lot for 20K reads, love you more than ever! ~A very happy Izzy~

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Sherlock nervously chewed on his fingernails. They had gotten through security and were waiting in the airports Costa for the plane to start boarding. It was almost half two, and John was asleep again. Sherlock, who was used to the lack of sleep, sipped coffee, anxiously looking at his phone every thirty seconds. He answered straight away when his brother called. "Mycroft." Sherlock greeted him. Mycroft sounded sleepy and annoyed. Sherlock decided to use the cruel joke he had previously made up about his elder brother to another phone call.

"Sherlock." Mycroft said back. "Moriarty is still in his cell at the phyco ward." He sighed, cutting to the chase. Sherlock pounded his fist against the wooden table, getting an annoyed look from a family across the room. "They've searched him and the cell. He's no access to a phone of any sort; I believe you brother, but it can't of been him." Sherlock considered this matter.

"Does he have visitors?" Sherlock asked.

"Just one. His son." Mycroft said. What a slip up.

"You knew!?" Sherlock raged, ignoring the pissed off look from the family. "You knew he was the first and you didn't bloody tell me! What the hell, Myc! What the bloody hell?" He shouted.

"Sir!" A worker at the airport exclaimed. Sherlock managed a 'sorry' through gritted teeth.

"It was for your own good." Mycroft defended himself, although he didn't know how.

"You're a git." Sherlock spat. "How old is the son?"

"Why should I tell you?"

"I don't know, BECAUSE IM TRYING TO SAVE YOUR NEPHEW AND NIECES AND YOUR BROTHER AND BROTHER-IN-LAW'S LIFE!?" Sherlock raised his voice again.

"The son is eighteen." Mycroft said sulkily.

"That wasn't so hard, was it?" Sherlock hissed, venomously. "It is entirely possible, then, that the phone call was made by Moriarty's son."

"His names Richard, Richard Brooke. Changed his surname to be unrecognised, I suppose. The father is Moran, so theirs a big chance that he's after you and your... Family." Mycroft Said the word family as if it were a swear word. Who needed families? Apparently his little brother. "While we're at it, do you remember Red-beard, brother mine?" Sherlock took a sharp intake of breath at this personal dig. That was low. Sherlock merely hung up the phone and tried to blink away the tears that were forming in his eyes.

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"John, John love, we've got to get on the plane now." Sherlock said softly. John had walked to the gate and then fallen asleep again. He mumbled tiredly in discomfort, but eventually got to his feet and joined the cue of about 20 people. It was a small plane, very small. Large and fast engines as well, the flight would only be an hour and a half. All twenty people were moving out of the country for protection. John smiled at the couple behind him, a pair in their thirties with a little girl no older than seven.

"Hi." He smiled, placing his hand on his bump. "I'm John and this is Sherlock." Sherlock smiled. He may as well make John happy by socialising. Sometimes he hated being an introvert. Why couldn't he introduce himself like that?

"I'm Fletch, this is my wife Leah and that's our baby girl, Missey." The blonde man said, introducing his brunette partner and daughter. Sherlock decided to interact with the kid, I mean, what harm could it do? Surely he needed some interaction with children before he had his own.

"Hello Missey, my names Sherlock." He cooed, kneeling down to Missey's height. Missey giggled.

"That's a funny name." She tittered. Sherlock found himself smiling too. It was an odd experience, being made to smile by anyone other than his friends.